Picking up her hand once more, René lovingly raised it to his lips, this time closing his eyes as he passionately planted a kiss upon her knuckles.
James stared at the pile of letters gathered before him. The late morning sunshine cascaded down upon his desk, sending a wave of dust about him, making it almost impossible to read the faded words. Through the humid haze he made out his wife’s delicate handwriting: I will always love you.
Genevieve had written him faithfully through the years, sending them in care of her brother. But James made it quite clear the many times Philip asked to forward the letters to him that there was to be no communication between him and his wife. The day Genevieve walked out of his life was the last time he would ever speak or hear from her again. He wanted nothing more of the Vanier family.
James had no idea the pain she experienced leaving him and Amanda. Her letters were filled with longing and regret. There had been no other man, and her career was never fully resumed, although she consistently performed until her death. She would have remained famous had she stayed in New Orleans. The Creoles loved their diva and treated her like a queen. At the same time Genevieve would have enjoyed a loving home and family.
Genevieve Vanier had it all. And she had cast it to the wind.
For the first time in ten years, James felt relieved.
As he read on, long nimble fingers quietly snaked their way down the front of his chest, one hand sporting a bright blue sapphire. James registered his daughter’s arrival at the same time she pulled her arms close about his shoulders and hugged him tight, her head of plump blonde curls soft on his right cheek.
“I’m sorry, father,” Amanda said softly.
James gently stroked the tender arms wound about him, raising a hand to lovingly pat his daughter’s face.
“It’s all right, my love. I can read much better with the drapes open.”
Amanda unlocked her grasp and gingerly knelt down at her father’s side. James could tell she was examining him, possibly expecting another angry outburst. He cupped her satiny face in his hands. “I haven’t been much of a father these last ten years, have I?” Before Amanda could answer, he continued, “Don’t deny it, Amanda. I have failed you.”
Amanda shook her head. “You were suffering.”
“That’s no excuse. So were you.”
When Amanda looked away, her eyes locked on the letters scattered about the desk.
“Your mother wrote us constantly. I never allowed your Uncle Philip to forward the letters until now. I felt it was time.”
“She wrote me at school,” Amanda said softly.
The news shocked him as much as Amanda flinging open his curtains. “Why didn’t you tell me about them?”
“You never allowed me to speak of her.”
James instantly wondered how much pain he could have avoided had he cleared the air with Amanda. Had she known all these years about Genevieve’s grieving? “What did she say?”
Amanda sighed and wrapped an arm through his. “She said she loved us and missed us and hoped that someday you would forgive her.”
For several minutes father and daughter enjoyed the welcome company of each other’s embrace, quietly staring at the pile of letters before them. The pain was finally disappearing, and Amanda was there to walk with him into the light.
Despite their earlier resolution, lunch remained strained as the conversation drifted back to René and their elopement. When Virginia arrived with the meal, she immediately began an intensive inquisition into René’s intentions. James continued to offer the possibility of an annulment, and Amanda adamantly refused. By the time two o’clock rolled around, Amanda felt they had returned to their previous stalemate.
“Can we talk about something else?” she pleaded as she turned the azure-colored ring round and round her finger.
“Is that what your husband calls a wedding ring?” James snapped.
“It’s a beautiful ring,” Amanda retorted, the questioning and insults getting the best of her.
“Amanda, dear,” Gin began again, “we’re only trying to piece this puzzle together. You must see how utterly confusing all this seems. The whole elopement is so unlike you.”
Amanda instructed herself to breathe deeply and count to ten. All will be resolved or forgotten in due time, René had said.
Before she could answer, a knock came at the front door. Glancing over at the mantle clock, Amanda realized with horror that it was time for René to pick her up for the trip home.
“I’ll get it,” she said, abruptly rising and knocking over her water glass. As if James understood, he rose as well.
“Nonsense,” he bellowed. “This is my house and I shall answer the door.”
“Father, you never answer the door,” Amanda argued nervously.
“You never disobeyed me before. I shall see to the door myself.”
Amanda watched with trepidation as her father moved down the hallway. James reached the threshold in a few easy steps, quickly flinging the door wide open. René stood before him, his hat held tightly in his hands. “Good day to you, Judge Richardson,” René said.
If Amanda wasn’t mistaken, René appeared as calm as a bayou at midnight, his eyes exhibiting neither cheer nor animosity.
“What is it you want?” James asked, looking down his nose at the younger man.
“I’m here to take Amanda home.”
The two glared at one another like bulls fighting over a cow, each one hoping the other would be the first to look away. Amanda was surprised to find a flicker of admiration in her father’s eyes.
“I want to have a word with you, young man,” James said sternly.
“Of course, sir.”
“Tomorrow. Perhaps you will both come.”
Amanda wanted to throw her arms around her father again, to rejoice that he was finally coming around, but like René, she remained calm, waiting for his next move.
“Tomorrow will be fine,” René answered.
“Good,” James said, quickly gazing back at his astonished daughter. “I’ve given the cook a few days off, so perhaps we’ll meet for tea?”
“Tea?” René asked, a slight grin appearing underneath a pair of curious eyes. “I didn’t know Americans drank tea.”
James thrust his hands in his coat pockets. “You’re right. What the hell is an American doing drinking tea? We’ll meet for coffee, then?”
“Coffee will be nice,” René answered, still displaying a cool exterior.
“Good, this time tomorrow then,” he said, ending the conversation.
Amanda wanted to continue staring at her changed father, the man who until this day steadfastly refused to have anything French in their home, including coffee, but James seemed impatient to usher her out the door. Before she left the shadow of the hallway, she reached up and hugged him.
“I love you, Papa,” she whispered.
James pulled his daughter close and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too, mon petite chou.”
If merely facing Judge Richardson wasn’t enough to affect René, the Judge speaking French clearly was. René stared in astonishment. James noticed his glare and his face colored. “Haven’t you ever seen anybody speak French before?”
René never faltered nor abandoned his composure, but his eyes glistened as if a smile was not far away. Placing his hat upon his head and tipping it politely to the Judge, he placed Amanda’s hand in the crook of his arm and led her down to the waiting buggy.
Amanda stole one last glimpse of her father at the top of the steps, his hands defiantly anchored on his hips. She hadn’t won him over yet. Still, Amanda couldn’t resist the last word.
“À demain,” she said with a grin, indicating they would meet again tomorrow.
Before she could study the aggravated look on her father’s face, they were headed north toward the bayou and the farmhouse she now called home.
A Cajun Dream
Chapter Ten
There was wild musi
c coming from the left side of the house, a fiddle that sounded as if possessed by the devil, and a piano that pounded a fast tune too raucous for such a delicate instrument. Katherine cringed at the lively melody, tweaking her nose at such common frivolity. Surely, Amanda could not be living among such peasants.
When the familiar ring of Amanda’s laughter rose above the music, Katherine finally stepped out of the buggy. The rumors were true after all. Amanda had left the comfort of affluent, educated American society and moved to the outskirts of town with gambling, uncivilized Cajuns!
Before she entered the light of the apparent livingroom, Katherine stood on the front gallery and stared at the people inside. There were two men near the fireplace, one aggressively wearing out the bow upon a crude violin and a younger man playing second fiddle to his left. Amanda was perched at the piano near the window, intent on following their lead. Another man sat at an oak secretary at the back of the rustic room, busy studying a set of books while tapping his feet to the music.
Katherine detested folk-style music, although she had to admit the tunes did incite one to dance. But it was immigrant music, songs that betrayed one’s status in America. Her family achieved great wealth raising sugar cane along the banks of the Teche, enabling her to study at the finest schools and spend winters in New Orleans society. Yet, all her father had to do was open his native Scottish mouth or sing one of those Old-World folk tunes and her peasant heritage was evident for all the world to see.
The Cajuns, Katherine found, carried their social status around their necks like a chain. A few spoken words and you knew exactly what caste to assign them to. Katherine didn’t understand much French, but she detected a distinct difference between the refined conversation of the Creole French in New Orleans and St. Martinville and the rough dialect of these bayou dwellers.
A slightly plump woman around Katherine’s mother’s age entered the room and spoke loudly to the group in French. When Amanda and the others finally heard her, they appeared to apologize and began disbanding for the evening. The woman smiled her thanks and left, moving up what Katherine assessed was a back staircase. The younger fiddler shyly put his fiddle away and left the room through the back entrance as well.
Katherine knew the hour was late, so she gathered up a deep breath and entered the room, pretending to knock on the open front door. “Knock, knock,” she said, offering up her best smile.
A silence so overwhelming followed that Katherine stepped back a pace.
“Katherine?” Amanda asked, as if her eyes were betraying her.
“Yes, it’s me,” Katherine answered. “May I come in?”
“Of course.” Amanda rose to greet her.
Within seconds of her crossing the threshold, the room came to life. The seated man rose and stood behind Amanda, the fiddle player offered her a chair and Amanda straightened her bodice and skirt as if caught with her finger in the pie.
“Katherine, this is René Comeaux, my husband, and Alcée Dugas, his uncle,” Amanda explained.
Katherine had to admit up close these Cajuns didn’t appear that different, except both sported shirts of what was sure to be home-spun and home-woven cotton. The vest of the fiddle player had to be one of the purest shades of sky blue Katherine had ever seen. She wondered how they dyed it that color.
“This is Katherine Blanchard, a friend of mine.”
Amanda seemed genuinely shocked to see her, as well she should be, Katherine thought. Katherine had been absent from society the past week to be close to Henry, but she managed to obtain quite an earful of gossip when she and Becky Parkinson visited the Variety Store for a soda that afternoon.
“I don’t mean to intrude upon your party,” Katherine said, trying to hide her disdain, “but I must ask a favor of you, Amanda.”
“Of course. What can I do?”
Katherine paused and glanced at the two men who watched her intently. Hadn’t they seen an American before?
Amanda seemed to grasp her insinuation and led her toward the front gallery. “Excuse us for a moment,” she said quietly.
“Girl talk,” Katherine added over her shoulder with a smile.
When the two reached the sanctuary of the outside porch, Katherine began her prepared speech. “Are you planning on going to the christening tomorrow?”
“I was considering it,” Amanda said.
“I’m so relieved.” Katherine linked her arm in Amanda’s. “I was hoping you would ride with me to the church. My brother has plans and my father can’t take time from his work. You know how men can be sometimes.”
“You want me to ride with you?” Amanda asked, surprised.
“I really hate going out alone.”
“What about Bernard?”
“Who?”
“Your fiancée.”
Katherine shook off the brief spasm of guilt. “Oh, of course, Bernard. He’s busy with the plantation.”
“I certainly don’t mind, Katherine, but it doesn’t make sense to drive all the way out here to have company to ride back into town.”
“I know, Amanda. But company’s company. We could catch up on everything.”
Amanda’s curious gaze suddenly shifted to a wary glance. She moved away from Katherine, folded her arms across her chest and looked down at her feet. “I see.”
“No, you don’t see.” Katherine was beginning to lose patience. Why couldn’t Henry love her without making her perform his little tasks? “I honestly don’t care who you married, Amanda. I just want some company to the church.”
“All right.”
Amanda stared straight at Katherine, as if trying to read some hidden message. Katherine couldn’t reason why, but she felt immensely guilty.
Because of what she offered to Henry on a daily basis, what was to be saved for her marriage to Bernard, guilt consistently raked her being, but that had nothing to do with Amanda. It had been three weeks since Henry escorted her to the Talbot’s. Surely, a woman wouldn’t feel ill that soon. Besides, she reasoned, she couldn’t possibly have gotten pregnant on the first time!
“Katherine, may I ask you something?” Amanda inquired.
“Certainly.”
“You haven’t seen Henry Tanner lately, have you?”
Bile rose in Katherine’s throat for the umpteenth time that day, and she had to briefly close her eyes to fight back the nauseous sensations. She feared there was something between Amanda and Henry after all. “Why?”
“Sally said he escorted you to the Talbot’s ball.”
“Yes, so?”
“I’ve heard bad things about him, Katherine. I just wanted to warn you in case he asked you again.”
The nausea finally relented, but Katherine felt as if her blood had been completely drained from her body. Her head throbbed, and the pungent, moldy odor of the damp ground, freshly sprinkled from a quick afternoon thunderstorm, invaded her nostrils. “There’s a lot of rumors going around, Amanda. You of all people should know that people love to gossip in this town.”
“Yes, but...”
“He’s a fine gentleman from an upstanding New Orleans family. He lost almost everything — his land, fortune, status in society — when a cutthroat con artist robbed him and forced him to work for a living.”
Katherine grabbed the porch railing to steady herself. “He’s been trying to raise the money to return home and protect his sister from further bankruptcy and scandal. He must come up with an enormous sum by next week or she will lose what little he has unselfishly managed to hold on to for her behalf. His whole purpose in life is to allow his sister to maintain her position in society, even if it means working at a job beneath him.”
Why wasn’t Amanda acting sympathetic? When Henry told her the story, Katherine was close to tears.
“What time will you be around in the morning?” Amanda asked unemotionally.
“Will nine o’clock suit you?”
“Yes.”
Katherine let out a deep breath. “I’ll see you then.�
��
Amanda walked Katherine to her carriage and its waiting driver, gently shutting the door when she was safely inside. “Tomorrow, at nine,” Katherine uttered before pressing her handkerchief to her nose. Within seconds, the buggy lurched toward town.
Amanda watched the buggy leave her sight and the dust settle along the road in front of the house. Tomorrow she must discover why Katherine had chosen her, of all people, to be her “company.”
And explain to Katherine that Henry Tanner has no family.
“The mosquitoes will eat you alive if you don’t come in.” Alcée rounded the side of the house, finishing the knot in his cravat and pulling on a waistcoat.
“Where are you going at this time of night?”
“My dear, I am in search of refreshment,” Alcée answered with his now familiar bow.
“You’re going drinking?” Amanda had heard that men succumbed to such an atrocious sin, but she never personally met one who did. She stared at her in-law, refusing to conceal her surprise and disapproval.
“We all have our faults,” he answered with a shrug.
“Drink is the aid of the devil.”
Alcée laughed heartily. “Then I shall embrace the devil for a few hours, and he shall be rewarded in the morning when I awake with a pounding headache.”
“But why...?”
A sadness filled Alcée’s eyes, a darkness Amanda had not witnessed before. “Your father isn’t the only one who suffers from a broken heart, mon chérie. And tonight I suffer from an unusual bout of melancholy.”
“But surely it can’t be as bad as all that?” Amanda pointed to the living room. “Your playing?”
“I can escape any pain while I’m playing. But, as you can see, the music has stopped.”
“Who was she?”
Several minutes passed before Alcée spoke, and Amanda wished she knew the man better. She would have liked to offer comfort, but she dared not make physical contact. There was still so much uncertainty between them.
“Her name was Marguerite. We were going to be married.”
Alcée sighed, and Amanda knew instantly she was treading on sensitive ground. “What happened?” she nevertheless persisted.
A Cajun Dream (The Cajun Series Book 5) Page 16